


Thelema

by Laineyvb131



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, F/M, Magical Realism, Origin Story, Supernatural Elements, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laineyvb131/pseuds/Laineyvb131
Summary: Thelema: [from Greek- to will, wish, want or purpose] an occult social or spiritual philosophy. An Elizabeth/Henry origin-ish story. Not necessarily an alternative universe, but definitely a supernatural one.
Relationships: Elizabeth McCord/Henry McCord
Kudos: 1





	1. Fire and Revelations

Elizabeth sat at the table in Henry's kitchen, trying unsuccessfully to focus on the linear algebra equations blurring across pages in front of her, but her eyes kept wandering to the man himself, standing at the stovetop. Her gaze traced the span of his back, the sinew of muscle and tendons in his forearm, flexing as he flipped the bacon. Her fingers idly rubbed the scars in the worn wood beneath the textbooks and notepads, circled the stains from coffee cups- small but significant signs of years of stories in his life. So many stories she had yet to hear, so many stories she realized she wanted to know.

They'd been studying quietly together in the library, preparing for final exams. With daylight long gone, Elizabeth could no longer successfully mask the rumblings of her stomach with rustling of paper or under the layers of her sweatshirt. The most recent attempts of her body to announce her hunger nearly sent Henry jolting out of his chair. After they'd recovered from a fit of giggles, Henry suggested they continue working at his house, and he'd cook dinner.

Elizabeth almost balked at the idea- they'd only been dating a few weeks, although she wasn't really sure when to mark that time. Their daily meetings among the shelves had started long before, the smell of old leather and aged paper becoming as comfortable as the others' presence, bonded over their mutual fondness for academia and debate. They'd been affectionate, tentative, respectful, but nothing beyond sweet and nearly innocent. Because Henry's invitation seemed genuine, and his tone contained no hint of suggestion, Elizabeth agreed. Her stomach and inquisitive nature won out over her hesitation, and their easy familiarity had shifted seamlessly to the interior of his apartment.

He'd asked her opinion on the menu. Since she lived on pizza, mac & cheese or ramen, Elizabeth considered breakfast for dinner a rare treat, a home-cooked meal even more rare. Breakfast was good any time of day, after all, and who was she to turn down the offer of someone to cook for her? So Henry smiled indulgently, dug into the refrigerator for eggs and cheese and mushrooms, and began to build omelets. He lit the burner for a second skillet, added the bacon when the heat began to sizzle.

Savory scents wafted through the air, and Elizabeth abandoned any pretext of studying, content to watch Henry. He began to hum, a tune she quickly identified as a favorite Peter Frampton song. She'd just settled in to accompany him, her melody sorely out of tune, when suddenly, the oil popped, echoing like a shot in the kitchen. Flames erupted from the grease, engulfing the cooking meat, dancing fire across Henry's skin.

Henry instinctively jumped back from the stove, dropping the spatula on the counter. He lunged toward the sink, throwing up the faucet handle with one hand as he thrust his arm under the running water.

Elizabeth shoved out of her chair, the legs scraping along the linoleum. "Wait. Don't do that." She was at his side in mere seconds.

"Get the fire extinguisher. It's under the sink." Henry kicked his foot at the cabinet door.

Elizabeth ignored his command. Her pulse quickened, then leveled as she channeled the energy racing through her body. She kept her eyes focused on the angry burn spreading across Henry's arm as she flicked her hand toward the stove and smothered the fire with a mere thought. Another snap inside her mind turned the knob, cutting off gas to the burner.

"Let me help." She wrapped her fingers gently around his wrist, drawing him away from the stream of cold water.

Henry hissed through his teeth. "What are you doing?"

"Henry, please," Elizabeth implored, softly. She tightened her hold, laid the palm of her hand flat against his forearm. Henry jerked instinctively, trying to pull away from the searing intensity heightened by her touch. Elizabeth held him still and closed her eyes, gathering her strength. She concentrated on pulling the pain into her body, pushing healing into his. Elizabeth felt the burn, scalding and hot, scorching her arm. She had to force herself not to recoil, to stay centered on her task. The agony built almost unbearably, spread into her soul, then gradually faded into nothingness.

Stunned, Henry watched as Elizabeth's skin paled to a near translucence, a stark contrast to her natural glowing complexion. A grimace marred her features, strangely echoing the anguish he felt. Her lashes fluttered, the brilliant blue now glassy and dull. When her entire body sagged, he nearly reached for her, afraid she would collapse to the floor. Her pupils widened until the black was rimmed by only a hint of color, her gaze unfocused, almost as if she were in a trance. Elizabeth's eyes drifted closed again, and her torso swayed, but her grasp never lessened.

Henry waffled between terror and fascination, unable to move, or even think, as he realized Elizabeth was healing his burning flesh. Incredibly, the searing heat in his arm eased, then cooled, and the raw redness slowly faded.

They stood motionless in the now stark silence of the kitchen. Henry nearly wrenched his arm from Elizabeth's hold, his immediate instinct to shake her to alertness. Then he realized she was breathing, deep and slow, and a rosy tint slowly warmed her cheeks.

His arm still warm under her hands, Elizabeth absorbed the remaining power tingling over her skin as she gradually regained her senses. Healing left her drained, but not completely exhausted. She probed gently with her mind, searching for any residual pain, but found none. Elizabeth hesitantly looked up at Henry, her body rigid in anticipation of the revulsion she was sure would follow when he recognized what she'd done, what she was. She'd learned to never reveal her magick, used her power sparingly, only when necessary and always under the cloak of anonymity.

His hazel eyes swirled with confusion, perhaps a bit of shock, but no disdain or fear.

Elizabeth relaxed a fraction, and waited for his reaction.

"I… umm…" Henry glanced down at their joined hands, then back up, searching her face. "That was… you are…"

She quirked an eyebrow at him, and still, she waited.

Henry swallowed, tried again. "What was that?" he finally blurted out.

A tiny giggle escaped her lips, prompted by the sheer stupefaction in Henry's expression.

"That was unintended." Elizabeth shrugged, faking an air of nonchalance. She inhaled sharply. Do it quickly, she thought, like ripping off a bandaid. "I'm a witch."

When Henry didn't respond, Elizabeth continued, with an attempt at levity- and distraction, "I don't usually share my magick with anyone, certainly not before he's properly kissed me." Her lips curved in a sly grin, even as she held her breath.

"Wait, what? We've kissed. I've kissed you."

"That's what you chose to respond to?" Elizabeth's laughter rang out despite her anxiety, and she pressed the hand not holding Henry's to her belly. "Certainly not the reaction I expected." She smoothly covered her lie, and her quick exhale.

"I'm not quite sure what to say," he admitted. "You've thrown me for a loop." He looked down at his arm, rotating it, inspecting for any damage from the oil and fire. Of course, none existed; Elizabeth had healed him well. Henry scrubbed his free hand over his face, ran his fingers through his hair down to the nape of his neck. Elizabeth recognized the tell as his way of digesting information, parsing through his thoughts before he spoke out loud.

He stilled, then ruffled his hand again. "You're a witch?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"A healer?"

"Among other things, although I haven't explored the full extent of my potential. Learning of it was….unexpected." And too late, she thought, way too late. The smothering grief welled up before she could push it back.

Shadows darkened her eyes, and Henry nearly commented, but Elizabeth gathered herself and the moment was gone. Another time, he thought to himself, and another layer to uncover. He squeezed her hand in silent compassion.

"I have questions, if you don't mind. And," he hurried to add, "if you do, I understand." His statement carried no censure, nothing other than curiosity and tenderness.

Elizabeth's heart stuttered, swelled with longing, but his casual acknowledgment of the supernatural unnerved her. The few with whom she'd shared her secrets acted quite the opposite, pushing her away, finding reasons to avoid her, even openly shunning her existence. She'd long abandoned the expectation that someone would even try to understand her, much less want to know more.

But before she could respond, Henry cupped her cheek in his hand. "First, though, I obviously need to meet your requirements."

"My requirements?" Her confusion was evident, even as she tilted her head into his touch.

"To kiss you properly." His fingers entwined in her hair as he pulled her to him, and when she didn't resist, pressed his lips to hers. Where their previous kisses had been chaste, sweet, this one, oh, this one was passionate and sensual. Henry slid his tongue into her mouth, stroking and caressing until Elizabeth moaned low in her throat. She traced the line of his collarbone with her fingertips, petted his shoulders, absorbing his essence, pressing her body flush to him. When Henry finally lifted his head, they were both panting.

Elizabeth touched her fingers to her lips, almost in wonder. "Um… that was…." Now it was her turn to stutter.

Henry's smile blossomed as she echoed his earlier words. "Better than I'd even imagined?"

"Yeah." Her soft sigh was one of wishes and dreams, of a young woman long resigned to loneliness because of her unique abilities. "Yeah."

Maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't be alone forever, but she dared not invest in that hope. Rather than interpret the chaos of her emotions, she stretched to kiss him again, indulged herself by lingering, nibbling the corner of his mouth, savoring the taste of his lips.

"I've imagined it, too. Us. Kissing." Elizabeth suddenly felt uncharacteristically shy at her confession. "The reality was much better. And I have a pretty vivid imagination."

"Dare I say magickal?" His grin was exaggerated as his wink, but no less genuine.

"That's a bit too Hollywood movie-ending, don't you think?" She snorted, playfully rolling her eyes at his banter. "Although I'm a sucker for fairy tales, that's not quite how it works."

She suddenly became serious, worried he'd begin to question his intentions, or hers. "I can't make you kiss me, for the record. I can't make you do anything you don't want to."

"Can you…?" Henry tapped his temple, when she drew back.

"Read minds?" When Henry's eyes widened, she briefly considered teasing him, just as quickly discarded the idea. "No. I can't. Not minds. Hand signals? Yes."

Henry's relief was obvious and his shoulders shook with laughter as tension drained away, the pain merely a wisp of a memory.

"I can sense moods," she explained. "Feel pain, obviously."

Henry gently tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, rubbed his thumb across her jawline as he listened intently.

Elizabeth's confidence grew with his silent acceptance. "I just stumbled upon this, my power," she admitted. "I don't know where it came from. I don't really know what I'm doing." She gently slid her palms along his forearms, wrist to elbow, then clutched his biceps. "Occasionally, I've just gotten lucky and figured it out."

"Okaaaayy." Henry drew out the word, and Elizabeth could all but see the thoughts racing through his brain, magick or not. "I've studied Wicca, but just academically, obviously." His hands rested on her hips, holding her close, and she could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Not like the heat from the pain, but deeper, comforting, yet simmering with a hint of desire. "I have a lot to learn. Will you teach me?"

His questions were both earnest and sincere, Elizabeth could tell, but she was also aware Henry chose his words carefully. Intuition had never failed her, so she followed her instincts, and her heart. "Whatever you want to know. But the extent of what I don't know is greater than my knowledge."

"Maybe we can learn together."

And, with that, her heart melted just a bit more. "But can we eat first? I'm still starving."

Henry pointedly glanced over at the stove, where the blackened remains of the bacon and eggs still sizzled slightly. "Unless your powers extend to cooking, we might have a problem."

"Nope." Elizabeth raked her fingers through her hair, and Henry smelled the slightest hint of lavender. "I'm pretty hopeless in the kitchen, magickal or otherwise." Her lips twisted sheepishly. "I have, well," she gestured toward the stove, "had to fix my own cooking mishaps, if that makes you feel any better."

Henry chuckled. "Solidarity."

"How do you feel about cheeseburger pizza?" Elizabeth asked.

Henry wrinkled his nose in obvious disgust, then seemed to reconsider. "Depends. Can you fly?" Henry countered. "I've never picked up pizza on a broomstick."

Charmed by his corny jokes- Henry somehow had a never-ending source of cringe-worthy humor- Elizabeth snickered. "I'm not the greatest pilot," she retorted, "and neither are you, yet."

"Huh. Well, okay." He agreed, reluctantly. "One new thing at a time, then. Why don't we just call for delivery?"


	2. Henry's Birthday

Henry huddled on the cold tile floor of Elizabeth's bathroom, gripping the edges of the toilet bowl in white-knuckled hands.

They'd been in the midst of a heated argument over Elizabeth's Scrabble prowess after she'd laid down yet another triple word score, all while insisting no, she wasn't using magick, she was just that good.

"I'm not letting you win just because it's your birthday," she'd informed him, somewhat haughtily.

Before Henry could voice a retort, his face morphed from skepticism to abject disgust, and his skin paled to a greenish tinge moments before he darted from her couch.

"Oh, come on. Don't be a sore loser," Elizabeth hollered in his wake. When her taunting was met with stark silence, then the thud of a door hitting the wall, she stormed after him. That's a bit dramatic. But as the unmistakable sound of vomiting reached her ears, Elizabeth skidded to a halt and peered tentatively around the doorframe of the bathroom.

"Um, Henry, are you okaaa…?"

Henry heaved violently, splattering the porcelain with the contents of his stomach.

"Yikes." Elizabeth winced, as his body jerked again. "Obviously not."

She tiptoed carefully into the room, as if any noise might cause him to be more ill, and reached into a cabinet for a wash cloth. The faucet turned on of its own accord, earning a pointed look and a sigh from Henry, despite his current predicament. Elizabeth handily ignored him, wetting the material thoroughly with cool water.

"Here." She twisted the towel in her hands, wringing out the excess water. "I'm guessing that's a 'no' for cheeseburger pizza, huh?' Her attempt at levity fell flat as she wiped his forehead, then the back of his neck.

Henry shuddered and gagged.

"Sorry. Sorry," Elizabeth apologized hastily. "I won't mention it again."

"What did you do to the cake?" Henry groaned, a muffled echo against the toilet bowl.

"What?" She sputtered. "Nothing."

Henry took the cloth from Elizabeth and wiped his mouth gingerly, rocking back on his heels. "The cheeseburger pizza was fine. And you didn't cook. So what spell did you cast on the cake?"

"Seriously, Henry, are you going to do this all the time? Not everything I do involves witchcraft." Elizabeth boosted herself to sit on the edge of the vanity, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I appreciate the thought behind this gesture, Elizabeth, and I know your intentions were pure..."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Only Henry could channel his academic persona while he was puking his guts out, literally. Cute, but ridiculous. He'd be a hot professor someday- a good one, more importantly- but now was just not the time.

"Henry..."

"I thought we agreed, babe, no more spells..."

"But Henry..."

"...and you'd only use magick if someone is in real danger.."

"Henry, if you'd just... "

Henry suddenly vomited again, barely missing the toilet. Elizabeth jerked her knees up, pulling her feet well clear of disaster. The cat suddenly appeared on the countertop next to her, eyeing the mess with a less than empathetic stare, rubbing against Elizabeth's back to make room for its bulk.

Elizabeth slid off the counter, the ridge of marble digging into her tailbone. "Sorry I'm in your way," she snarked. The cat merely blinked and settled on its haunches. Elizabeth glanced in the mirror, where a furry black feline reflection was noticeably absent, then back at the cat. "You'd better not be up to something," she muttered, loudly enough that the cat's ears twitched.

Elizabeth turned back to Henry, hands planted on her hips. "Are you done with your lecture?" she huffed impatiently. Henry's assumptions didn't really matter; either way, she was at fault, but she didn't have to be thrilled with his obvious conclusion.

"Looks like you might actually be in danger right now." Sarcasm poured out before she could stop herself. "Want to get off that high horse and let me help?" She ripped the washcloth from his hand, glaring at Henry as she slowly turned the faucet back on herself, gaze never leaving his.

The cat jumped clear of the spray of water with a disdainful hiss.

"No, smartass." He didn't miss the deliberate demonstration of her mortal action. "Not unless you can fix this spell." Henry thought again about his qualification and quickly threw up his hand, palm out. "No. No spells. Don't fix it. Don't try to." Henry glanced nervously at the cat. "I'll just wait it out."

"But Henry, that's what I'm trying to explain. It's not a spell. I actually made the cake." Elizabeth twisted her hands in front of her, flinging water across the room from the cloth she still held. "By myself. With ingredients. Natural ones." Her lips curled in a sheepish frown as Henry dodged the unintentional shower. Elizabeth tossed the rag back in the sink and turned off the water again. "I guess I can't bake any better than I cook." She sighed, fluttering strands of blonde hair around her face.

The cat shifted, thrusting a paw in the air to lick its hindquarters. "I saw that," Elizabeth warned. She pointed her finger at the cat. "Stop smirking."

"Oh." At her admission, Henry's skin tone turned even more green, and his torso sagged in resignation. "I guess that means I have to wait this out."

"No chance of growing wings, if that helps." Elizabeth offered, barely muffling a giggle.

The cat snarled, arching its back.

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

In response, the cat leaped from the vanity and stalked from the room, swishing its tail in indignation.

"Apparently not," Elizabeth concluded, ruefully, watching the cat's retreat. She turned her attention back to Henry. "Will you?" She pleaded, full of remorse. "I'm so sorry, Henry."

"I'll forgive you. Just no spells. And no cooking. Not without supervision."

Elizabeth thought it best to not mention the human cause of the grease fire that resulted in her magickal revelation. She'd done more than her share of damage in the kitchen since that afternoon, in spite of Henry's patient attempts to teach her to cook.

"Promise." Elizabeth drew an x over her heart. "Wait." She snapped her fingers, and a can of ginger ale appeared in her outstretched palm. "Okay, now I promise." Elizabeth grinned and repeated her earlier action.

Henry raised his eyebrows pointedly.

"What?" Elizabeth's expression was all innocence. "I don't have any in my fridge. This will settle your stomach."

Henry chuckled, shaking his head. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"No more than you can turn off professor mode." At Henry's confused look, Elizabeth dismissed the comment with a wave of her hand. "Never mind." She squatted against the wall behind him, setting the soda on the floor within their reach. "I'd do anything for you, babe, including some good, old-fashioned TLC." Elizabeth began rubbing Henry's back in slow, soothing circles with the flat of her hand.

"Shit." Elizabeth's eyes widened as slowly, realization dawned on her- she'd eaten a fair portion of the cake, herself.

Henry glanced back at her, sympathy etched on his face. "Hey, don't worry. I've seen what you eat." When Elizabeth shook her head in disagreement, he continued reassuringly. "Your cast-iron stomach can survive anything."

Elizabeth dropped her head on Henry's shoulder as the unmistakable sound of laughter drifted down the hallway. "I'm screwed, aren't I?"

"No more than I am, babe. We're in this together, be it food poisoning or payback." He patted her knee in solidarity. "Let's just hope the solution to this problem is just to keep you out of the kitchen. Cats have nine lives over which to hold a grudge."


End file.
